


+1 Surprise

by XaykWolf



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/F, modern-ish AU, slight Shadowgast if you squint in a later chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:27:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28233147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XaykWolf/pseuds/XaykWolf
Summary: Beau's resigned herself to being alone for yet another Midwinter Party at her parents' winter estate, practically defenseless against all of Thoreau's bullshit for five whole hours. After all, it's the price she pays for accepting his help with paying for grad school, and she'll do her best not to make a scene or draw attention to survive it. Only, there's this really beautiful harp music on the train platform, coming from an even more beautiful woman...
Relationships: Beauregard Lionett & Caleb Widogast, Beauregard Lionett/Yasha, Mollymauk Tealeaf & Yasha
Comments: 5
Kudos: 60





	+1 Surprise

**Author's Note:**

> Atypically, the very first scene acted as the muse for the rest of this fic, and everything that follows it is because of it. Any fun I had along the way is coincidental, as I wasn't rushing to connect a late-stage scene to something coherent. Nevertheless, more fun *is* being had whilst writing the later chapters, so rest assured more antics are guaranteed.
> 
> I have made some things more modern, pulled out some of the dungeons and the dragons, but I feel the world is still recognizable underneath it all. For the record, I did try to maintain the ages/age gaps properly, but as you're all aware, the source material can be a bit of an unreliable narrator, so I did my best to make it feel right. Let me know what you think! Also, this is going to be incredibly self-indulgent, but I hope y'all end up liking it as much as me all the same! 
> 
> Enjoy!

Beau bites back a scream. It wouldn't do her any good anyway, and all it would serve is to scare her fellow train passengers. The last thing she needs is for someone to think she's having a psychotic break and call the cops.

_Actually_ , she thinks, _that might be preferable_.

The train hums and lurches beneath her feet, taking her out of the city and toward the outlying suburbs. Toward her family's winter estate where they visit during the off-season and throw parties, like the Midwinter celebration she's been...invited to tonight. She wants nothing more than to turn around, to send her father a picture of her flipping him off and tell him to go fuck himself, but she can't. She still needs him and his financial support, so she's gotta make nice and all that.

Graduate school had been a marginally good idea, at least it had when she started two years ago. But as she's since learned, getting a doctorate in anything costs way too much and subsumes the entirety of your life. Between shoving her nose in history books and going cross-eyed from foreign language classes, she's barely had the time to keep her workout regiment, much less her more...lascivious activities. 

Her father had been pleased when she'd shown up alone during last year's Midwinter party, thinking she was finally settling down. He couldn't be more wrong, but it had been a battle she hadn't felt like fighting at the time. After all, it was enough to wait for him to demand that she explain why she still pursued interests outside the family business, and the stress of anticipation was plenty enough.

This year, though, with her being more than halfway through her program, she was sure he'd give up on that tack and focus more on how "the years progress and still my daughter hasn't found a _suitable_ partner." As if 26 is ancient or something.

She rolls her eyes out the window of the train and adjusts her grip on the overhead strap. Her pulse pounds a little harder in preemptive response to the look she's sure to get from Thoreau, and she shoves her hand in her pocket to turn her music up louder.

It'd be nice to have someone, anyone, as a buffer to that tonight. Unfortunately, there's no way TJ is prepared to bear the brunt of their father's ire, considering he's barely old enough to remember what they had for dinner the night before. And besides, Beau would never let him go through what she did. Beau feels a rush of protectiveness and has to swallow hard. He's so young, and she has to leave him alone with her parents, which feels wrong even though they seem better now that Beau's no longer under their roof. Years of contrary experience tell her not to trust, and yet here she is, going to school instead of looking out for him.

Her grip tightens on the strap, and she breathes out hard, choosing to stare at the passing station sign. A few more stops and she'll have to disembark. The family winter estate is so far out of the city that she'll have to transfer to a completely different train at the very end of this line.

She'll have a grace period of a few hours where guests will both consume most of Thoreau's time and prevent him from making any sort of scene. After that, though...all the energy he'll have built up by then will come out as soon as the door clicks shut on the last person uninitiated into her father's true nature. Beau's stomach flips; the audience they're sure to have for the fallout is rather small, but they're all long-time family friends, handpicked by Thoreau himself as Yes-Men with children equally as brainless. She'll have no help. And she'll be thrice cursed by any god before she gets TJ involved.

No, she's just going to have to prepare now for how terribly she'll feel on the hour-and-a-half trip home.

The train slows, and Beau checks the connecting track's schedule. Her phone tells her that she's got at least a 20 minute wait until the next outbound train arrives, and she grumbles. Of fucking course she's just missed the earlier train. At least it prolongs the time where she's _not_ around her father. The intercom dings to announce that they're at the end of the line, that all passengers must exit, and then the doors slide open.

As she's stepping out, someone behind her _apparently_ thinks she's going too slow, because they slam into her shoulder and speed off up the stairs. It knocks her headphones askance, and she cusses at them as she double-checks her pocket for her keys and wallet. They're there, but damn if she doesn't still want to go after the asshole and teach their ribs a lesson.

She's readjusting her headphones when she pauses. Over the pounding bass of her music, she hears something unusual. A soft melody plays on what sounds like a harp, adding just a bit of warmth to the station platform. Pulling her headphones all the way down to her shoulders, Beau searches for the source.

On a bench in the middle of the platform, about 10 yards away in the opposite direction from the stairs, a woman sits, eyes closed and head bent over a gnarly-looking harp. The frame is metal, and if Beau's eyes serve her correctly, it looks like it's been molded to look like vertebrae, like the spine of an inhumanly large creature. And speaking of large...

The woman herself takes up the lion's share of the bench, with her own muscular frame belying the delicacy with which she plucks the strings. The dual-toned dark hair matches the overall aesthetic of the grotesque harp and her ripped black jeans and black band shirt. People give her wide berth as they go around her, though their eyes are glued on the woman in the same fascination Beau's experiencing. The woman doesn't seem to even notice. She's too focused on feeling out a quite complicated melody, foot tapping softly next to an open instrument case. 

It's got quite a bit of change in it, with a few dollars strewn in. It's not much if she's been here all day, but if she's only been here for a few trains then it's quite a haul. Beau finds herself hoping its the latter but shoves her hand in her pockets to search for any spare change. She fishes out her last bill, and gulps at the $10 emblazoned on it. It's the money she'd need if she manages to get herself kicked out of the party early without dinner, but...

_Fuck it_.

She walks over to the woman. As she's bending slightly to toss the bill in, the closing notes of the song fade, and Beau finds herself looking up on reflex. The bill drifts down as the woman opens her eyes to meet Beau's.

Beau's mouth goes dry.

The eyes, heterochromatic blue and purple, flick down to watch Beau's money float into her case and register the size of it. All Beau has time to think in that brief moment of inattention is that this woman is jaw-drop _gorgeous_. 

And then she speaks: "Thank you."

Whatever kind of voice Beau had expected, this was _not_ it. It's dark silk, low and quiet, as smooth as Beau's is rough. The kind that both heralds and drowns out thunderstorms. The kind you know you do _not_ want to hear raised in anger, because it spells your doom. And by all the gods it's now probably Beau's favorite sound.

When Beau doesn't respond, the woman continues, "I know it's not customary to make change, but if you feel you need to, go ahead."

Beau takes a bit longer to process the woman's words, but when she does, she simply shakes her head. She's usually so eloquent, especially with women, but words have chosen this moment to fail her.

"Oh, then I definitely thank you. Is there a song you might wish for me to play? As...as payment."

Beau licks her lips in a vain attempt to wet them as she searches for a fairly simple and recognizable tune. "Do, uh...do you know 'The Traveler's Con'?"

The woman smiles. "I do. It was one of the first I learned for busking." And then she's leaning over the harp again, eyes open this time, not leaving Beau's as she plays the opening chords.

Beau's transfixed, unable to move for the full five-minute song. It's normally the kind of song one dances to, Beau included, but this time she doesn't move a muscle. _Can't_ move a muscle.

Other people come and go during the song, tossing in change as they pass (one kid who recognizes the music begs his mom for a fiver to drop in, and the part of Beau's brain that's still capable of coherence finds it endearing). Slowly throughout the song, a small smile spreads across the woman's face, and Beau thinks she could probably be violently murdered tonight at dinner and still arrive in the afterlife satisfied.

An idea knocks on the back of her brain, and she mentally cracks the door for it without turning her attention away from the woman.

She's plucking out what Beau knows is the final verse of the song, and terrifyingly Beau finds herself wishing it would go on forever.

The woman rests her hand against the strings to quiet the vibrations at the proper time, and they spend the next few seconds quietly sharing a smile.

Clapping breaks the silence. Beau jumps, feeling her soul nearly leave her skin.

"Ah well played, my charming friend!" A purple tiefling is arcing around the end of the bench from behind to talk to the woman. "I didn't think you were ever going to play that...one...ag...ain." He's registered Beau's presence a bit too late, because the thought has come out in its entirety.

Beau's face warms. It feels very much like she wasn't meant to hear that, and now her mind is processing ten different things while struggling not to feel like some sort of voyeur. All she'd done was request a children's song...something so innocuous...

"Sorry, I didn't know-" Beau starts.

"No, no, it's fine," the woman interrupts. "It's nothing."

" _Nothing?_ " the tiefling repeats, looking a mixture of scandalized and bewildered. Beau wants to laugh, but the weight of everything is crashing down on her. She's got a gathering of asshats to attend, she can't stand around watching this woman forever.

Her feet are backing up, taking her toward the stairs to her connecting train. She should walk away now, before she gets in too deep with this woman, before she starts something that's assuredly going to end in disaster.

"I'm just gonna go, uh...thanks for the song."

They don't seem to notice her motions to leave or her timid words, heads buried close together and arguing in hushed tones. Beau's intentionally trying not to understand what they're saying, but as she turns her body to go, she catches a phrase.

"-just something about her, okay? Don't-"

Beau's heart leaps, the pulse in her neck making itself known. There's no way that means what she thinks it means (what she wants it to mean)...

_Ah, gods damn it all_. 

The idea that crept in the backdoor of her mind tugs her back around, and before she can stop herself, she looks directly at the woman and blurts out, "Come to dinner with me!"

Their voices both cut off and then they're looking at her like she's sprung a second head. _Great_ , now her face is absolutely on fire, from crown to chest, across the shoulders she's unwisely bared in this weather.

"Ah shit, not like that!" Beau waves frantically. "I, well here's the thing. I've got this party I'm going to at my family's place, and I could really use someone to help buffer me from my dad. You see, he's a giant asshole, and if I brought someone with me he'd have to back off somewhat, and it's a pretty swanky party, so the food's decent and I figure _free food_ , y'know? Everyone loves free food! And like no strings attached, just a handful of hours and..."

She trails off at the look of shock on the woman and the intense distrust from the tiefling. She gnaws on the inside of her cheek for a moment to calm herself marginally and then tries again.

"Look, I know it seems like I'm up to something shady, but I promise I just need someone to get my dad off my back for like five hours, and if I'm lucky maybe annoy the fuck out of him."

"Oh?" the tiefling responds, cocking an eyebrow. "And of course a complete stranger is the best option. No one else in your life that can fit that bill?"

He's hit a sore spot, but Beau forces her expression to remain neutral.

"Fine, whatever," he says with an eye-roll and shrug. "I'm more wounded than anything. You're looking to piss someone off, and you decided the harp player is the better choice over _this?_ " He gestures to himself exaggeratedly. His garish coat, tarot cards, and purple skin _do_ speak for themselves...

"Well, no offense, but you're not exactly my type," she says.

And _then_ her brain registers the playful sarcasm in his voice and the angle of his grin.

Oop.

"But I am?" the woman asks quietly.

_Yes_ , Beau almost reflexively responds, but she bites down on her tongue before she can say something that stupid to a stranger.

"He'll be much quicker to believe I'd date you, and you're much more likely to piss him off. He's got tieflings on his payroll, but, well... He's not particularly big on Xhorhasians."

The tiefling narrows his eyes, putting himself in front of the woman. "Now hold on. You're not going to put my best friend in the crosshairs of a bigot, not on my watch."

Beau's ears grow even hotter. "We'd only be alone with him for maybe an hour. Knowing him, he's invited half of Kamordah to this thing, and he's much too smart to make a scene in front of friends and local politicians. And I can hold him off for an hour, that's easy. Your friend will be fine."

"Wait...Kamordah? That's easily a day's drive from here. Who exactly are you?" The tiefling's red eyes slant harshly.

Without a thought for caution, she replies, "Beauregard Lionett."

"Lionett? Like the winery?" The tiefling whistles low and eyes her up and down, and if it weren't for the fact that her father's scrutiny is always much worse on a good day, Beau would be fidgeting.

"Yeah, yeah, like the stupid wine. Don't be too impressed. The money doesn't exactly buy class."

"I can see that. But it does apparently buy fancy dinner parties."

"Molly," the woman interjects. "I'm going to go. It'll be fine. It's one less night where we have to worry about food, at least for me. And with what we already made, you can get home and get warm much sooner."

Molly's mouth opens and closes several times, false starts of what Beau's sure are efforts to convince his friend to decline her offer. 

"Listen," Beau says around a sigh. "You know who I am, who my family is. If something does happen to her, you'll know who to blame. But nothing's going to happen. Dear ole dad isn't big on overt confrontation, and I've been handling him for all my life."

Molly bites his lip. Then after a moment he forces out "fine, but you don't stop texting me until you get home" at the woman. 

She nods and then hesitates. "Should I...bring my harp?"

"Well I certainly can't cart that monster around," Molly says, and the lilt to his voice tells Beau that this isn't the first time this particular topic's come up. She hides a smile by looking down to fish out her phone and check the ETA on the next train. Five minutes. 

How quickly things can change in 15 minutes...

It takes them a couple minutes to scrape out all of the money from the harp case and get the instrument placed safely inside, but it's with plenty of time to spare that Beau's stepping out on the connecting platform with a proper plus one that's sure to piss her father off.

The prospect of sitting through dinner already feels less daunting, and with a gleam in her eye, she leans over to the woman.

"So, uh...what's _your_ name?"

**Author's Note:**

> So, I had intended for this to be a 2.5k word one-shot and then the universe had other ideas, so please be patient with me as I finish out this multi-chapter monstrosity (by my standards lol).   
> I do have it all outlined, even if it's not all drafted yet, so I actually know where this is headed! That being said, I can't be sure how quickly I'll be finishing it. The plan is to be done by the end of my school break, but...well...you know. I DO want it to fit the season, though.  
> Anyway, drop a kudos/comment, and have a good rest of your day/night!


End file.
